Full Circle
by Whymsical
Summary: Borrowers AU, though Arthur doesn't really call himself that at any point. Francis is unaware of Arthur's existence in his home until one fateful night brings them together. Francis then wants nothing more but to see Arthur again, and more often, while Arthur struggles to figure out what he's going to do from that point on. Can he really trust the Frenchman?


**A/N** : So this is a little story that a friend of mine and I wrote a while back. She started it with me, but then I finished it up by myself. I meant to put it up beforehand, but it just slipped my mind. Enjoy!

* * *

Arthur only ever came out of his little hole when it was absolutely necessary. The hole was well-hidden, too, so the Frenchman human that owned the house didn't know of its existence, or of Arthur's. It was more of a crack, really, in the farthest corner of the kitchen. The little blond man came out only at night, when it was safe.

He was about five and a half inches tall, with messy hair and green eyes. He'd been living in this particular house for almost two years now and he hadn't been noticed yet, so he felt good about himself. The food was good, and he saw no reason to leave.

But lately, in the past two days, the human seemed sick. He barely left his bed, and even when he was up, Arthur noticed that he lacked his usual vigor. That worked in Arthur's favor; he was able to go out a little more, and he grew bolder. He didn't hide quite as much, and he didn't bother to mask his steps- at least when he was in the kitchen and living room. That night he was in the human's bedroom, quietly padding about on the night table.

Francis groaned softly, turning in his bed yet again. True, he was sick, but he was more than that. He was close to feeling as if he was going to die. The worst part was the fact that it had come out of nowhere. He'd gone to the doctor's and gotten antibiotics, and called for a week off work. Now there was nothing to do but suffer and wait. He cursed softly as his stomach started burning again.

Arthur was startled by the sound and he jerked back, knocking against a small bottle of tablets. The bottle fell over onto its side with a rattle, and Arthur froze.

Francis glanced up onto his night table and when he saw Arthur, he didn't hesitate a second before groaning. " _Mon Dieu_ , now I'm hallucinating," he muttered before gently waving a hand at him. "Pick it up, _s'il vous plaît_."

Arthur blinked, frozen for a moment before he slowly picked the bottle back up and set it back in its previous position. His eyes never left the human's face.

" _Merci_." Francis looked up at the little figure and sighed again. "I'm Francis, _et toi_?"

"Arthur..." Still not looking away from Francis, Arthur slowly started to step backwards.

" _Bonjour_ ," Francis muttered and stuffed his face into his pillow.

Seeing his chance, Arthur fled, not looking back once. His heart was hammering in his chest as he made it back to the safety of his home. That had been too close. Arthur was lucky that the human - Francis - had been too sick to reach out for him.

He shuddered slightly as he fell back into his matchbox bed. It was one of those big boxes, and he just fit in it if he curled up a bit. He had scavenged it in the first month of coming to the house, and had since filled it with cotton and bits of cloth until it was very comfortable. The rest of the space was filled with colorful pieces of glass, random little useful things like a thimble and thread, and a few of the miniature books from Francis's collection.

He slept fitfully that night and was woken the next morning by a fairly loud crash and cursing coming from the kitchen. He bolted upright and cautiously made his way to the crack, peeking out to see what was going on.

Francis was leaning against the countertop with one arm while the other rubbed at his shin. He muttered curses in French for a while ,then gingerly lowered his foot to the floor and straightened up. Grabbing a steaming mug, he shuffled over to his table where he collapsed in one of the chairs.

He looked horrible, and Arthur could clearly see it. There were dark circles under his eyes, which were dim, and his hair lacked its usual luster. The blond strands were pulled into their typical ponytail, but instead of falling gracefully down around his face and neck it looked as if a mouse had built its nest there. His clothes were ruffled and he was hunched over himself as if he was dying. Arthur's heart went out to the Frenchman; he couldn't help himself, the human looked so pitiful. If he _wasn't_ human, Arthur would have gone out to him and tried to comfort him (he could even ignore the French), but as things stood he merely watched for a moment more and then withdrew.

The human eventually retreated back to his bedroom and the little Englishman was able to come out in the afternoon to stock up on supplies. He grabbed a few more crackers and biscuits and took a long drink of water before heading back, taking some more thread and tape along the way. He read until evening, and when night fell he couldn't resist going back up to the bedroom to check up on the human.

Francis was in bed- no surprise, he had stayed there all day. His eyes were closed but he wasn't sleeping. He was tired and sick and wanted the sickness to go away, but at the moment, most of all he wished for company. His thoughts provided him with a name: Arthur. The little figure from last night. He still couldn't decide if Arthur was real or a hallucination, but he was leaning towards the latter. Yes, that was it. Arthur was merely a fragment of his imagination, brought to life because of his loneliness.

He wondered if he could perhaps summon the little man again. A few moments later he heard the faintest of clatters from the direction of his night table. He turned to face it and opened his eyes to see the little figure.

Arthur was in the process of setting down the cracker he had brought with him when he heard the shifting of the mattress. He glanced up, locking eyes with Francis, and froze.

" _Bonjour_ , again," Francis said, pulling the covers up closer to his neck. " _Et_...you brought food? Hmm. Perhaps my consciousness is hungry."

Arthur moved back at all the movement but didn't run. He didn't dare to, not with those blue eyes locked on him. He was confused for a moment, until he remembered something Francis had said last night: a hallucination. The Frenchman thought Arthur was nothing more than a sickness-induced hallucination. Well, Arthur could work with that. "Yes." he said, trying to appear more confident than he actually was. "You can't eat much more in your state..."

Francis blinked, and then smiled softly. So his companion was English. What a twist. He removed one of his hands from under the covers and extended it out. "Give it here, then," he said with a sigh.

Arthur's breath caught when the hand started to approach him, but relaxed when it stopped short of actual contact. "H-Here." He was unable to keep the faintest of tremors from his voice as he hefted the cracker into Francis's fingertips.

" _Merci_." His hand was already trembling from the effort of holding it up, and Francis gladly drew it back to himself, depositing the cracker onto his chest. He cast his eyes over the table and he sighed again as he spotted the bottle of antibiotics. " _Et_ also pass me one of those." His hand moved back over to the night table, this time resting on top of it.

Arthur moved away a few steps, and he glanced at the bottle. "I won't be able to pass you water, I hope you know."

" _Oui_ , I know. I will swallow it dry. Now come on." Francis gently nudged him towards the bottle.

"H-Hey!" Arthur shied away from him and with some difficulty opened the bottle. "Don't touch me." He scooped out one of the pills and screwed the cap on before dropping the capsule in Francis's palm.

Francis thanked him again. He swallowed the pill and then ate the cracker, using it to help get the antibiotic down.

While he was busy with that, Arthur took the opportunity to flee. No. That time was enough. He couldn't allow himself to be seen again, much less touched. His stomach still tingled where Francis's index finger had brushed against him.

And yet...he didn't want Francis to suffer or die either. For one, he didn't wish that upon anyone (especially Francis- the human had done nothing to harm him, after all), but also, if Francis died then the house would be sold and Arthur would have to move again, something he didn't want to experience.

The Frenchman was sick for several more days. Arthur would visit him every night but he took great care to ensure that he wasn't seen and only went when Francis was asleep. Each night he would roll a bottle of water to the foot of the bed, place two crackers on the edge of the table, and deposit a pill on top of them. In the early morning, when he went to go check on him again, the crackers and antibiotic would be gone, and about half the time the bottle of water would show signs of being opened.

About a week later Francis started recovering, so Arthur stopped visiting. The human looked much better and stronger, so Arthur wasn't needed anymore. The little Englishman focused on staying hidden and going back to his previous routine.

Francis was relieved when the sickness passed. When he finally felt like himself again he took an extra day off so he could take a nice long shower, wash and dry his sheets, and clean his bedroom to drive away the last traces of the sickness. He felt so good he wanted to dance, to do _something_ to express his joy, so he settled on cooking. Arthur, who he firmly believed to be a fraction of his mind, slipped from his thoughts entirely. He prepared himself an extravagant dinner and dessert, smiling happily at his renewed ability to move around freely.

His activities caused Arthur to be unable to come out at all during the day, which spelled some problems for the little man. Arthur had no room for any sort of water container in his home, nor would he be able to even fit one through the crack. Therefore he slipped out as often as he was able to to sneak drinks from Francis's dispenser, which he kept on the countertop and full of fresh water. But that day he wasn't able to go out at all so in the evening he spent almost five minutes gulping down water, not even caring if Francis noticed a distinct difference in the water level the next morning. He collapsed against the water dispenser, chest heaving, hoping that everything would go back to normal soon.

It did. Francis went back to work in the clock repair shop, so the house was empty from nine in the morning to six in the evening. Arthur basically had the space to himself, and he used the time to stock up on his necessities.

In the evenings, Francis would occasionally bring his work home. He fixed clocks, all manner of timepieces. Even the oldest and most battered he could get running like new. Arthur would watch him from the safety of the shadow of the doorway.

One day, one of the little gears fell from the table and rolled under the couch, out of reach. Francis cursed at it but ignored it for the moment and continued with what he was doing. He was so focused and concentrated on his work that Arthur deemed it safe enough to dart over to the couch, hugging the wall. He made it under the couch without being noticed and took a moment to locate the gear and then pushed it forward, into reach. And just in time, too, for a few moments later Francis shifted and one of his hands came down to blindly search for it. Expertly avoiding getting touched, Arthur pushed the gear into such a place that Francis would find it and then backed away. The Frenchman's fingers closed around the piece of metal and the hand withdrew.

Feeling oddly pleased with himself, Arthur slipped back to his previous position. He watched Francis working for a moment more before going back to his home. But he couldn't help but think that something had shifted within the house. While Francis did not know of him, not really, he certainly paid more attention to Francis. He didn't know what the shift would lead to, but there was nothing he could do but wait and find out.

The fact that Francis didn't know about Arthur wasn't exactly true. The incident with the gear registered as strange in his mind. He had been almost sure that he had heard the little thing bounce around for a moment, so it should have landed farther than it apparently did. And yet it had been right near the edge.

Francis was an observant man, and now that he noticed one strange thing, others kept popping up. The water level in his water dispenser kept changing occasionally. Crackers and other small amounts of food kept disappearing. He noticed that he had a bit less thread and one of his thimbles was missing. Perhaps a mouse?

But no. A few days later, Francis saw a few crumbs on the floor, laid out in a sort of trail leading to the far corner of his kitchen. He knelt down before it and his eyes found a crack in the wall. It wasn't very big, but something could slip through it. The Frenchman didn't really clean that corner so there was a thin layer of dust there. And in the dust were prints. Not mouse paw prints, but what looked like miniature human footprints.

His eyes widened and the time of his sickness came back to him. And Arthur. He had written Arthur off as a product of his mind, but what if he was real? He smiled softly. A tiny little Englishman, living right in his home! And it seemed that little Englishman had helped him.

Francis wanted to see him again. He stood up and walked away from the corner; waiting there wouldn't help him, and might only scare Arthur. He didn't have time to think about it anymore because he had to leave for work, but at the shop he came up with a plan.

The Frenchman was busy in the evening again, so Arthur couldn't go out to eat or drink. He slept instead, waking up when it was still. He wandered out cautiously, and the digital clock told him it was just past midnight. He darted over to the dispenser, and was walking across the countertop after a nice drink when he suddenly paused.

There was a new cake (Francis also liked to bake and cook in his spare time), and its cover was slightly skewed. Usually the cover was on tightly and Arthur could do no more than look wistfully at the admittedly delicious-looking food, but that night it seemed Francis had been in a hurry. Arthur changed his course and stopped before the display platter, touching it as if to make sure it really was slightly open. It was. He slipped under it and picked up one of the larger crumbs, sniffing at it before placing it in his mouth.

He moaned in pleasure and licked his lips before scooping up a few more pieces to take back with him. There wasn't anything else he particularly needed then, so he darted back into his hole. He didn't notice the blue eyes watching his every move from the kitchen table at all.

The next day passed mostly in the same fashion, except Arthur now had cake to munch on. In the evening he heard a few soft sneezes from the kitchen and peeked out to see Francis blowing his nose. Dear Lord, was he getting sick again? Arthur ducked back down and busied himself with reading until there was silence once more. After his drink and snack - the cover was tilted once more - he decided to go to Francis's room to check up on the Frenchman.

The bed was empty.

Arthur's breathing quickened and his stomach dropped as he stared at the cold, unused sheets. _He went out somewhere, he's just not home, that's why he's not asleep..._ he tried to convince himself, but there was a bad feeling in his stomach. Heart racing, he ran down and then darted back to the kitchen, to the safety of his home. He was halfway across the kitchen floor when the lights flicked on overhead.

" _Bonjour_ , Arthur," a soft, accented voice said from behind him.

Arthur shied horribly at the sudden light and tripped, going down with a surprised yelp. He slid a ways across the floor, turning so he ended up facing the human standing perfectly still by the door. "S-Stay back, frog!" he shouted out, trying to make his voice as harsh and fierce as possible.

Francis quirked an eyebrow at him and smiled, but there was no malice in his eyes, only gentle curiosity. Moving slowly and with great care, he slid down the wall so he was in a sitting position, leaning against it. "Don't be afraid, Arthur. I won't hurt you."

Arthur was more than surprised by his actions, but he still inched backwards away from him. "You... You remembered my name?"

"Of course." Francis's smile grew slightly. "Did you enjoy that?" he asked, gesturing at the cake.

Arthur swallowed, glancing between him and the platter.

" _Non_ , don't be afraid. I left it like that on purpose. But did you enjoy it? You certainly took more than a few bites last night...well, for someone as _petit_ as you," Francis said calmly.

"You were watching me?" Arthur asked hoarsely, his blood going cold.

" _Oui_ \- I was curious about you, _et_ wanted to see if you were truly real."

Cursing himself, Arthur quickly got to his feet and fled to his home, hoping that the Frenchman wouldn't follow him.

"Arthur, wait-!" But it was too late, he was gone. Francis stayed in that position a moment more and then got up, sighing heavily. With a final glance at the corner he left, going back to bed.

The next morning, there was a small plate of food and a bottlecap of water outside the crack, and all the dust and dirt was cleared away from the ground before it. Arthur glanced around suspiciously but didn't touch it. He didn't go out all that day, staying inside where it was at least somewhat safe.

When Francis got home he sighed when he saw his untouched offering. He cleaned it up and then left, giving Arthur the chance to go out. He was worried the little Englishman hadn't come out all day and was in need of food and drink.

Arthur had watched him from the darkness beyond the crack. He had felt a little bad upon hearing the sigh and seeing the blue eyes dim in sadness, but no. Francis was a human and dangerous. When he just up and left Arthur was suspicious again, but eventually hunger and thirst forced him out. He didn't stay long, just enough to grab a cracker and take a drink.

The same thing greeted him the next day, and the day after that. He never touched the offerings, not trusting Francis's intentions all the way. For a week Francis left food and water for him, and for a week Arthur barely left his hole. Finally, one morning, when he peeked out, Francis was sitting cross-legged against the wall opposite the crack, just staring at it.

Arthur tried to duck back down, but it was too late; Francis had seen him. The Frenchman's eyes lit up and his gaze held Arthur frozen in place.

"Arthur..."

"W-What do you want?" Arthur asked harshly. "And what's with this?"

"I told you before, I am interested in you. I would like to get to know you better. _Et_ the food and water is for you to eat."

"I don't want your food! Nor do I want to know you! Just leave me alone!" Arthur snapped.

Francis smiled strangely. "But Arthur, you are living in my home. At least introducing yourself is the polite thing to do."

Arthur quivered. "Is that a threat?"

" _Quoi_?" Francis blinked. "Oh, _non_ , _non_ , I will not do anything to you, I give you my word. But aren't you an Englishman?"

"...I am."

"You're not showing off that English gentleman spirit very well so far," Francis said, shrugging.

"You're a great big bloody _human_ -"

"Who will not harm you, as I have said many times," Francis explained calmly.

Arthur shot him a glare. "And how can I trust you?" he growled out.

"If I had wanted to do anything to you, don't you think I would have done it earlier?"

Arthur stayed silent.

Francis smiled again, knowing he had won. "I am Francis Bonnefoy, and you?" he said, reintroducing himself.

Arthur took a deep breath and then, still glaring, marched right up to him. "Arthur Kirkland. A pleasure," he practically hissed, sticking his hand out.

Francis blinked, surprised at his sudden closeness, but then he chuckled. He reached out and very gently took Arthur's hand between his index finger and thumb, moving it up and down a bit to mimic a handshake. " _Enchanté,_ " he murmured, quickly letting go.

"I-I don't speak frog," Arthur muttered, freezing for a moment. He was surprised both by the handshake and Francis's control and gentleness.

"English through and through, are we?" Francis asked with a chuckle.

Arthur laughed a bit too, though he moved back a few steps for his own comfort. "Of course. I don't have the opportunity for many tea breaks, however," he said sadly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had tea; it just wasn't easy for him to get some, in his condition.

"Ahh. I do not have any tea, but might I be able to interest you with some cake and water? And we could move to a place more comfortable for conversation, say the table?"

"And how would I get up there?"

"I will lift you." Francis set his hand on the ground, palm up.

Arthur swallowed and looked between it and Francis's face. "...I'm sorry, but no. I can't. I-I should go." He backed away more.

" _Non_ , please, Arthur you must eat."

"I will. I'll take that, okay?" He pointed behind him, to the food outside the crack.

"..All right. Thank you for speaking with me, Arthur." When he judged the little Englishman to be far enough away, he slowly stood.

"No problem." Arthur paused to watch him unfold to his full height, face angling more and more upward so he could keep his eyes on Francis's. "Thanks for being so nice, I guess."

"No problem." Francis echoed his words. "Please eat. And do not be afraid to come out anytime."

Arthur didn't answer him, instead turning on his heel and vanishing back into the crack. A moment later he slipped out to get the food and water, but afterwards he retreated again. Upon closer inspection, the food turned out to be scrambled eggs, a few slivers of bacon, and even a small piece of buttered toast. Arthur just stared at it all for a moment before eagerly digging in.

He could faintly hear Francis moving about in the kitchen as well - his footsteps and then the scraping of a chair - but he didn't pay much attention to it. Now that he thought about it, he cursed himself for walking right up to the Frenchman, angry or not. He'd already broken so many of the fundamental survival rules for his kind...and through his own stupidity, too.

Arthur's heart was heavy as he realized what he had to do. On the outside he made sure to make it seem as though nothing had changed; he stayed hidden most of the time despite Francis's words, though the times when he happened upon the human he kept his distance but was polite. On the interior of the home within the wall though, changes were being made as he slowly emptied it out.

* * *

" _Bonjour_." Francis's voice came softly from behind him.

Arthur spun around to find him standing by the counter he was currently on, a small smile on his face. He was always smiling so warmly around Arthur, and the Englishman didn't like it. It made him feel guilty. "Yes, hello."

Francis didn't blink, used to such brusque answers from him by now. "Would you like some French toast today?" he asked, moving off to the side to give him some more space, though his hands tingled with a hint of desire.

"Anything is fine." Arthur saw the look in his eyes, knew that more than anything Francis wanted to touch him and hold him and examine him closer. He shuddered slightly. Francis had restrained himself so far, but Arthur wasn't sure how long that would last.

Humming softly, Francis set about making the breakfast. Arthur moved down the counter, closer to the hole, but he didn't vanish into it this time. He had nothing left to lose, so he just sat down on the edge of the countertop and watched.

"To what do I owe this surprise?" Francis asked a few minutes later upon glancing over and seeing he was still there. "You are not hiding away in your little hole."

Arthur shrugged. "I'm just waiting for the food."

Francis snorted. "You sound like a cat."

"I do not!"

" _Oui_. But would you like to join me here today?" Francis asked, placing his plate on the table. He held Arthur's portion in his hand, and his eyebrow was raised.

"I..." Arthur hesitated. "Just this once."

Francis smiled brightly. He set Arthur's small plate down and slowly approached the counter, hand outstretched. The Englishman hesitated for a moment and then stepped on, sitting down in the center of his palm. Francis's fingers curled around him protectively and he made sure to keep his hand steady as he took Arthur to the table.

It wasn't too bad, sitting in Francis's hand. Francis didn't grip him tightly, like Arthur expected, and he could tell Francis was trying to make sure his hand didn't shake too much. When they reached the table he jumped off the moment the surface came into reach.

"I hope that wasn't too bad," Francis commented as he took his own seat across from him.

"It was better than I expected, I suppose," Arthur allowed him.

"Oh! _Un moment_." Francis suddenly got up, startling the little figure, but he didn't spare Arthur a glance. He quickly strode over to his kettle, where the water was still warm, and took down the smallest teacup he had.

Arthur watched him with some curiosity from his position on the table. He couldn't see exactly what Francis was doing, but he heard the shifting of dry leaves and the faint clink of metal on metal. Then the Frenchman didn't move for a few minutes, and after that more clinking was heard. Finally he turned around, a full teacup in his hand. Arthur's eyes widened when the scent drifted over to him.

"Tea?" he dared ask.

" _Oui_." Francis set the teacup down before him with yet another smile.

His legs seemed to move on their own, carrying Arthur closer to the cup. He stared down at his reflection. "I thought you didn't have tea."

"I went out and bought some."

Arthur frowned. "What are you playing at?" he asked harshly, lifting his gaze to stare at him.

"What? I'm playing at nothing, Arthur." Francis looked genuinely confused.

"This!" Arthur gestured around him. "All of this! Your kind isn't nice to my kind, so what do you want?"

"Nothing. You were kind to me _et_ helped me when I was feeling sick, so now I would like to return the favor."

"Yeah, well no compensation required."

"Arthur, what is wrong? Just moments ago you were fine and you trusted me enough-"

"No," Arthur interrupted. "Make no mistake, I don't trust you. I can't trust you."

"I have done nothing to harm you, have I?" A tiny little spark of uncertainly flickered through his eyes. "Have I?"

"No, but you're human."

"Not all humans are evil, Arthur," Francis said gently.

Arthur was silent.

"I do not wish to harm you in any way," Francis promised. "Now, would you like to drink?"

"...Yes." Arthur slowly dipped his face down to the tea, but he found it hard to take a good drink without getting half of his face wet.

"Allow me." Francis gently nudged him back and then tilted the teacup towards his face, his fingers on either side of the rim. He held the cup with remarkable precision, his job working with small, delicate gears leaving him with steady hands.

Arthur glanced at him over the top of the cup and then leaned forward to take a sip. It was much easier now, and he drank deeply before leaning back with a satisfied sigh.

Francis chuckled and lowered the cup to the table. "You like it, _oui_?"

"I've missed it," Arthur said, looking up at him.

"Now you may have some whenever you like," Francis said with a smile.

Arthur blinked in surprise. Then he reached out ant placed his hand on Francis's wrist. "Thank you..."

Francis's smile widened and he gently ruffled Arthur's hair with his finger. " _Pas de problème, mon petit ami_."

"Don't do that!" Arthur sent a scowl in his direction, though it wasn't entirely malicious. He fixed his hair and then moved over to his little plate.

The pieces were cut up small enough that Arthur had no problems eating them. After a moment Francis withdrew his hands and set about eating his own portion. He cut his pieces into small bites and at delicately, trying to do so as quietly as possible.

When Arthur finished he strode over to the teacup again. "Could I have another drink?"

" _Oui_ , of course." Francis tilted the cup for him again. "Did you enjoy that?"

"It was good," Arthur said quickly, and then dipped down to drink. He took as many sips as he could, until he was completely full. Then he leaned back and lay down on the table with another small sigh.

Francis chuckled softly at him. "Full?" he asked, draining the rest of the tea. He then rested his hands on the table near him.

"Yeah." Arthur lightly patted his stomach. "Very full."

Francis smiled. "Might I ahh...might I be able to touch you?" he asked softly.

Arthur stilled. In retrospect, he should have expected this issue to come up. He thought for a moment, but then shook his head. "No. However, you may take a closer look." He scrambled to his feet and stood still, trying to ignore the urge to run.

" _Merci_." Francis leaned forward, his hand automatically reaching forth as well before he stopped it. He brought it around the small Englishman as if to cup him in it, but didn't actually touch him.

"Not too close..." Arthur muttered as Francis's face approached. The Frenchman was breathing through his nose, and his breath lightly ruffled the fabric of Arthur's pants as Arthur stared up at him as well, mesmerized by all the shades of blue in Francis's eyes, but then once Francis focused on his face he grew shy and looked away.

Francis chuckled and tilted his head to the side, trying to take in every detail. "Your eyebrows are quite...pronounced, _non_?"

"Is that a problem?" Arthur's eyes were back on Francis's, and he was glaring.

"They suit you," Francis replied easily. He examined Arthur for a moment and then drew back, his fingers brushing ever so gently against Arthur's hair as he drew his hand back to his side. The blond mess was even softer than he'd imagined.

"Oi!" Arthur's head dipped forward slightly under the pressure.

"Oh, _pardon_. My apologies." Francis smiled innocently, but then leaned forward a bit again. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine." Arthur walked over to the edge and peered down at the drop. Then, gulping, he awkwardly stepped back to the center of the table. "Err...could you please lower me to the floor?"

Francis's smile widened. "I thought you said no touching."

Arthur huffed. "Well I can't get down myself. Don't gloat over the fact, just help me."

"Come on." Francis, still grinning, set his hand down in the table in front of Arthur, palm up. When the little man got on, he got up and walked slowly to the corner. "You know, an amazing thing has happened," he remarked as he walked.

"What?"

"Some of my miniature books, which I was pretty sure had been lost, have reappeared again," he said, looking meaningfully at Arthur.

Arthur avoided his gaze, looking straight ahead. "That's wonderful," he said, voice slightly hollow. Of course the books had reappeared. He had no need for them anymore. "I hope you find the rest soon as well."

Francis noticed the tone but said nothing about it as he lowered Arthur to the ground before the crack. " _Au revoir_ for now."

"Good bye." Arthur turned and vanished into it.

Francis didn't see much of Arthur over the next few days. He wanted to have breakfast or any meal with Arthur again because that had been a pleasant experience, but the Englishman wasn't showing himself often. And Francis noticed that more of his books had returned, all that had been missing. He also found his thimble near his armchair in the living room. He suspected Arthur was behind this, but he didn't understand why he was returning the objects now. Nonetheless, he eagerly hurried home from work each day and his newest project consumed most of his time. Finally, it was ready.

"Arthur?" Francis asked, gently knocking next to the crack.

There was a soft yelp and movement was heard and then Arthur stuck his head out, watching Francis curiously but with slight annoyance. "What do you want?"

" _Bonjour_ to you too," Francis replied. He settled down cross-legged about a foot and a half away from him, setting the object he was holding behind his back on the floor.

Arthur heard the light thump. "What is that?" His eyes suddenly widened with fear and he shrank back. "What are you doing?" Was this the end? Had Francis really been trying to lure him into a false sense of security so he could catch him and sell him to some kind of freak show? Cages flashed through his mind, strange people watching him and poking at him and Arthur felt he could faint. Every muscle in his body was tense, ready for flight.

" _Non_ , don't be afraid, I am not trying to catch you or anything," Francis quickly explained. "I just want to know... Why do you live there, in that hole like a rat?"

"It's...my home," Arthur said, frowning softly. The light trembling in his limbs stopped, but he was still poised to flee. "There's nowhere else for me to live. Why are you so interested all of a sudden?"

"I don't like the thought of you living there when..."

"When what?"

"When you can live in more comfort out here with me." Francis reached behind himself and showed Arthur the object. "Look, I made you a bed, _et_ can do more."

Arthur gazed at it in shock. It was simple but sturdy and well made. There were even pillows and covers on it. "What- What is this? What were you thinking?!"

"You don't like it?"

"No, I...I do, and I appreciate the effort, but...damn it, Francis, you can't just go around doing that!" Arthur began to get angry, though he didn't know exactly what it was aimed towards.

"But Arthur..." Francis drew back slightly, confused. "You are my friend-"

"I shouldn't be! I _can't_ be, Francis, you're not even supposed to know or believe I exist. I messed up. I shouldn't have done it, I shouldn't have helped you. I-I was foolish to think this could last." Arthur's voice grew soft.

"Do you regret it?"

"What?"

"Do you regret helping me...or meeting me?"

"...No. But that doesn't change the fact that I shouldn't have. And now I have to fix it." Arthur took a deep breath. "Francis, I'm leaving."

"What? _Non_ , Arthur-"

"I must." Arthur couldn't look at him. "You won't see me again, and you won't know when I've gone."

"Arthur you don't really have to... I do not mind you here."

"It doesn't matter." Arthur withdrew more. "Goodbye, Francis." Then he was gone.

Francis was left staring at the crack, sadness and worry coursing through him. Sadness because he didn't understand why Arthur had to leave - was it really that bad if Francis knew about him? He wasn't going to tell anyone - and worry for what would happen to him now. Arthur was right; Francis most likely wouldn't know when exactly the little Englishman left.

He knocked once more, but there was no answer, so with a heavy sigh he stood and left. He set the bed on his night table and then headed off to work.

Arthur meanwhile was lying in his matchbox bed, thinking things over. The hole was empty of all but the matchbox and a small pile of the clothing he had. He needed to leave. No matter how nice living out in the open with Francis might have sounded, he couldn't. It was against the rules.

True to his word, Francis didn't see him. He stuck around for a few more days, coming up with a plan. He was utterly silent and unseen, and he was pleased to see Francis eventually stop glancing around for him. Arthur quashed the small amount of sadness inside him and focused on what was ahead.

* * *

If the wind blew in a very certain direction, it would blow through Arthur's hole and into Francis's kitchen. The night before Arthur decided to leave was cold, and an even colder wind blew in that exact direction. Arthur had fallen asleep before it started, and only woke when he thought he was half frozen. Sneezing violently, he crawled out of his bed, grabbing his thin covers, and tried to get to a warmer place. His nose was already dripping heavily and shivers wracked his body so hard he could barely walk straight.

He made it halfway across the kitchen floor before he fell over. Sneezing and sniffling, he curled up on the floor and closed his eyes, trying to get warm.

Francis woke because of the faint sounds and climbed out of bed, glancing at the clock. It was 2:56. Hearing another sound, he followed it and came upon a small shivering lump in the middle of his kitchen.

"Arthur..." he breathed, kneeling down in front of him. He carefully reached out and touched Arthur's shoulder. The little man turned to face him and then moved forward, curling around his finger. "You're freezing."

"I k-know that, frog," Arthur muttered.

"Come on." Francis picked him up and cradled him close to his chest to get him as warm as possible. "What happened?"

"S-Stupid wind." Arthur clung to the fabric of Francis's shirt and curled close to him, seeking warmth. He sneezed and groaned.

Francis carried him to his bedroom and gently settled him into the little bed. He was pleased to see that Arthur fit in it perfectly, and chuckled when he didn't want to let go of the human's finger. "Arthur, please. One moment, _et_ I will be back."

"Right." Arthur quickly let go, feeling foolish. It was just so warm though... He sneezed again and curled up into the covers on the bed. It was comfortable and soon the covers warmed up with what little body heat he had, so he was a little warmer himself.

There was rummaging heard in the other room, and after a few moments Francis came back with more cloth and two candles. He draped the cloth over Arthur's body as an extra blanket and lit the two candles, placing them close enough that the Englishman would get heat, but far enough that there wouldn't be the possibility of him getting burned or the cloth catching on fire.

"Just try to get warm for now." At a soft sneeze, he picked up a tissue and ripped it into small pieces before placing them within reach. " _Et_ rest. Later we will see how sick you are."

Arthur was still shivering, though it was better now. His eyes became heavy with sleep and he blew his nose soundly before allowing them to slide shut. The last thing he remembered before drifting off was the sound of Francis settling down in his own bed. When he woke later the sun was up and he thought he was alone, but then he heard Francis moving around in the kitchen. His head felt fuzzy and his nose was stuffed so he couldn't breathe out of it.

Footsteps rang out and came closer. "Arthur?" Francis asked, coming into the room. "How do you feel now?"

"Like shit- but I'm not as cold anymore, at least," Arthur muttered, shifting a little in the bed and sneezing.

Instantly, Francis was at his side and gently pressing a finger to his forehead. "Mm, it's warm. I think you may have a small fever," he mused. "I can't give you any medication, it might kill you, but would you like some soup? I am making some."

Arthur nodded slightly. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Why should I not be?" Francis shook his head. "I told you, not all humans are evil; I don't have any harmful intentions towards you." He paused for a moment, and looked down softly at the little Englishman. "You really don't have to leave."

"Francis, please-"

" _Non_ , Arthur, listen. I know that perhaps by some sort of rules we were not supposed to have met, but we have. I have proved multiple times that I will not harm you, _non_? And really, what is so bad about staying with me? You will be out of danger, and you will not have to worry anymore."

Arthur was silent for a few moments. "But the rules..."

"Rules are made to be broken, _mon ami_ ," Francis said gently, and stood. "You think about it for a while, I will go finish making food."

"W-Wait!" Arthur suddenly called, when Francis was by the door. "Don't you have work soon?"

"Arthur, do you really think I would leave you alone when you're sick?" Francis asked, smiling before he vanished down the hallway.

Huffing a bit, Arthur was left alone to think. He was strongly tempted by the offer. The food was good, Francis was nice and had promised safety, _he had a proper bed_ , for God's sake. And he certainly couldn't leave in his current state. As he listened to the faint sound of Francis bustling around in the kitchen he felt himself growing very warm and starting to sweat. He flung the covers off and seconds later he was freezing. Groaning and shivering, he covered himself again, only to start sweating. The cycle repeated over and over for him until Francis came in with a bowl of soup.

"Arthur, what are you doing?" the Frenchman asked, nearly dropping the tray when he saw Arthur was uncovered. " _Mon Dieu_ , are you trying to become even more sick?" He quickly strode over to the bedside and after placing down the tray, tucked him gently in.

"H-Hey, no!" Arthur tried and failed to ward him off. "I'm going to start sweating again!"

Francis paused, his brow furrowing. "Sweating? What is wrong, tell me exactly what's going on."

"I get really warm and start sweating, so then I take the covers off and start shivering, so I cover myself and the whole bloody thing starts over," Arthur grumbled, shifting around in his bed.

"Hmm... I think that is normal? Your body might be trying to sweat out the fever. We shall help it along in a bit, but for now eat and drink." Francis gestured to the small bowl of soup and teacup resting on the tray.

"Help it along how?"

"By getting you very warm, _et_ keeping you that way for a bit. Now, soup or tea first?"

Arthur still wasn't sure what exactly Francis meant by 'helping it along', but he focused on the tray. "Tea."

Smiling knowingly, Francis lifted the teacup and brought it close to his mouth so he could drink. When Arthur had had enough he fed him some of the soup, and when he finished with that he gently scooped the little man up.

"Wh-What are you doing?!" Arthur cried, holding on tightly to his index finger.

"Getting you warm," Francis explained. He grabbed his television remote and a few books in his free hand before carefully climbing into bed, Arthur cradled against his chest. He got comfortable and pulled his covers up so that Arthur's head was the only thing sticking out above them.

Arthur squirmed a bit, but then slowly relaxed. "I'm going to get really warm soon, you know," he muttered.

" _Oui_ , I know." Francis looked down at him with a smile. "The idea is for you to sweat it out."

"...I still don't understand why you're doing this."

"Because I like you, Arthur. You are fun _et_ interesting, and didn't you help me when I was sick?"

Arthur huffed and averted his eyes in slight embarrassment. "Well, what are we going to do all day, just lay here?"

"We can watch a movie or television, or I could read to you?" Francis offered.

"Fine."

In the end, they watched a movie and a few episodes of a cooking show, and then Francis read to him until the evening. Whenever one of them shifted even minutely, Francis could feel the small damp spot on his shirt where Arthur was located. Arthur was incredibly hot and wet after a few minutes, but occasionally the Frenchman would lift his hand to allow fresh air to enter. The only interruptions were twice when Francis left to use the bathroom or make some more tea or soup. Evening found him reading from a small book of English poems.

"Francis?" Arthur asked at some point.

"Mm, _oui_?"

"I...I think it wouldn't be too bad if I were to stay..." Arthur muttered, fidgeting once more.

"Really?" Francis's eyes widened a bit and he smiled down at him. "That is wonderful news, _mon ami_." He gently gave Arthur's form a squeeze as a sort of hug.

Arthur huffed a bit but then relaxed, allowing a small smile to come to his face. The warmth was making him drowsy and he felt himself drifting off. Right before he fell asleep, he patted Francis's fingers and thought that he wouldn't mind getting used to this life.

* * *

 **A/N** : There's a lot of fluff here XD I hope you liked it! The title comes from the fact that first it was Arthur taking care of Francis, and at the end it was Francis taking care of Arthur.


End file.
